


Dangerous and noble things

by beeawolf



Series: Time of the underdog [12]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dog!BB-8, Gen, Injury Recovery, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, love and trust and vulnerability and carrying the weight of trauma while still living a good life, mary oliver-based titles always
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeawolf/pseuds/beeawolf
Summary: So, he crashes a plane.
Relationships: Finn & Rey (Star Wars), Karé Kun/Temmin "Snap" Wexley, Poe Dameron & Jessika Pava, Poe Dameron & Leia Organa, Poe Dameron & Temmin "Snap" Wexley, Poe Dameron/Finn
Series: Time of the underdog [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1048070
Comments: 131
Kudos: 274





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, so you may wish to read at least the first one to get an idea of the character dynamics? But it's up to you! There will be multiple chapters -- most likely three, but who can say. I have been fussing at this thing for like a year and am just glad I was able to post it by 2020.

_I am thinking now_   
_of grief, and of getting past it;_

_I feel my boots_   
_trying to leave the ground,_   
_I feel my heart_   
_pumping hard. I want_

_to think again of dangerous and noble things._

\-- "Starlings in Winter," Mary Oliver

* * *

So, he crashes a plane.

He crashes a plane, and it’s fine, because nobody’s with him. Nobody's hurt. Hell, the _plane’s_ hardly hurt. There's no screech of crumpling metal, no stench of smoke — just the jolt of impact, snapping Poe's head back and then slamming him into the pilot's side door as the tilting Piper lurches its way to a full stop.

For one agonized moment, he’s scrambling toward the back seat for BB-8, trying to breathe around a sharp pain in his chest. And then he remembers that BB went to the garage with Finn today. A field trip to see his favorite Aunt Rey.

So that’s okay. So everything’s fine.

By the time Han Solo’s made it across the field, Poe’s already climbed out of the cockpit and checked the Piper over, is standing there with shaking hands and steady gaze and saying, “It was the engine, the engine was—” 

“To hell with the engine,” Han says, grabs him by the shoulder and holds him there. “What about you? You hurt?”

“No,” Poe says, then realizes he hasn’t bothered to check. Too busy thinking about BB-8, about the Piper's landing gear, about why the hell a perfectly fine engine would cut out on him mid-air. He feels okay, though. His hands are still shaking, and he’s having a little trouble drawing breath, but that’s standard adrenaline stuff. He feels fine.

“The engine cut,” he says. “It just — it just cut.”

“Yeah,” Han says, and his hand loosens on Poe’s shoulder. “Listen, you get yourself to the office, all right? Sit down a minute. I’ll take care of this.”

“Yeah,” Poe echoes. “Okay.” He takes a step, and the ground drops out from under him.

“Dameron,” says Han, like an epithet. There are boots crunching somewhere near his head, then a hand at his arm, and Poe starts to speak and just _can’t_. He loses time somehow, blinks again and finds himself sitting up in the grass with his legs sprawled out, half-leaning on — on Han-goddamn-Solo, which is either incredibly embarrassing or kind of amazing. His eyes won’t focus on anything, though; a tilt of his head brings everything blurring into a sickening mess of color.

“Kid,” says Han. “You in there?”

“I,” says Poe, and then he lurches forward and vomits in the grass. He hears Han curse.

Yeah, so. He’s gonna have to go with embarrassing.

“Okay,” Han says, “All right. You’re not walking anywhere.”

“I can,” Poe insists, and tries to shove himself upward. But his legs won’t even consider supporting him, so he just winds up sort of tipping sideways again. There’s something warm trickling down his forehead, and for a second he thinks — dizzily, stupidly — that maybe it’s raining. He goes to wipe at it and his skull ignites with pain, his hand comes back slick and red, and Han mutters, “Damn it, kid.”

And that’s about when things really start to blur. 

Later he remembers there were medics, and sirens. He remembers his own surprise at that development, somewhere behind the nausea. He remembers mumbling, “You didn’t have to call an _ambulance_ ,” with a spark of indignation, and Han telling him to _shut up, Poe._

He has time to marvel at that for a few seconds — he hadn’t been entirely sure that Han Solo had _known_ his first name — and then there’s an IV drip, and after that comes a haze he can’t see through anymore.

*

He wakes up in a hospital bed, because of course he does. He’s got to have, like, the world record of waking up in hospital beds. He’s practically a connoisseur of hospital beds.

This one is surprisingly comfortable, or possibly he’s just on a lot of drugs because he also feels a little bit like he’s going to float right out of his body.

He blinks at the ceiling, breathes and flexes his fingers against the familiar tug of an IV drip. His one leg feels funny but it always does, ever since he got shot down, it’s never really been the same, so he figures he can probably discount that.

But. He’s in a hospital bed. So there’s got to be a reason.

“Poe,” says a quiet, familiar voice. Poe tries to sit up and nearly vomits into his own lap this time from the resulting dizziness.

Leia presses a hand to his shoulder, keeping him down, and he stares up at her and says, “General.” His voice is thick.

“You need to stay still,” she tells him, calm and authoritative as ever. “You got a little banged up.”

Something about those words is familiar, somehow, in a way he can’t place. “Feel fine,” he mumbles, but he stays put.

“You should,” Leia answers. “Your Doctor Kalonia has you pretty well-medicated.”

So, yeah, that might explain the floating thing. Poe closes his eyes for a second and tries very hard to come back down. “I—my head was bleeding. Right?”

“Right. You have a concussion.”

“That’s it?”

“You also broke a couple of ribs.”

“I got a little banged up,” Poe murmurs. He remembers now. Why it’s familiar. Because he said that to her, last time this happened. After the last crash.

“They want to keep you overnight for observation,” Leia tells him. Her hand is still on his shoulder, which is the only reason he doesn’t try to sit up again at this information.

“BeeBee Ate,” Poe says, his heart lurching.

“I’m told he’s with Rey.”

Which is—okay, that’s fine, BB loves Rey, but— “Finn?”

“Out in the hallway,” Leia says, looking faintly amused.

Poe starts to nod, then stops. He knows concussions. He knows better than that. “The Piper,” he says.

“Wasn’t your fault.”

“Is it okay?”

Leia sits down on the edge of the bed, regarding him with that sharp, considering gaze he’s never quite been able to meet head-on. “Han says he can work with it,” she answers, then smiles faintly. “He also says you pulled off a hell of a landing for a guy with no engine.”

Poe sighs, leaning his head back against the pillow. It aches, but only in a distant sort of way. “Sorry,” he mumbles. It’s the wrong thing to say and he knows it; Leia Organa has never had much patience for pointless apologies.

But she doesn’t seem all that impatient with him this time. “What are you sorry for?” she asks, and it sounds like she actually wants to know.

“Second time I’ve crashed on you,” Poe answers, with a humorless smile. It’s exhausting, to try to meet her eyes. To keep his own eyes open. And sort of disorienting, because—he’s _been_ here before, clinging to consciousness in a hospital bed, trying to apologize to General Organa before his energy runs out on him. He knows how this goes, how his sense of reality is about to start blurring, how hard it’ll be to get any words out after that.

“Poe,” says the General, “you’ve never crashed on me.”

“I was...”

“You were shot down,” she says. “And you had an engine cut out on you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. He squints at the fluorescent lights above them. They’re not as flickery as he remembers. The last time this happened.

“That isn’t the same thing.”

And he shouldn’t argue with her. But it’s like he can’t help himself, like part of him wants to prove her wrong, wants to convince her. _I let you down,_ he wants to say. _Don’t pretend I didn’t._

“Almost,” is what he says, and closes his eyes.

“Not even close,” Leia replies sharply. He feels her weight leave the bed and struggles hard to open his eyes again. Leia is looking down at him with a particular tiredness that he recognizes, that brings a wave of guilt washing over him.

There are a lot of things he should say to her, probably. There are a lot of things he owes her, a lot of apologies she doesn’t want to hear. He should say thank you, for staying with him. He should ask if Han wants help repairing the Piper. He should ask who’s covering his shifts, should maybe recommend Pava.

He should tell her he knows it wasn’t technically a crash, but that it feels like one. That it never stops feeling like one.

He can’t, of course. Even if she’d let him, he can’t get the words all strung together in the right order.

“Overnight?” he manages, after what feels like far too long.

“Maybe longer,” Leia answers. “But probably not. You always bounce back fast.”

“I do,” Poe agrees, and sees her lips curve in what might be a smile.

“Your boyfriend is out there wringing his hands,” she tells him. “Should I send him in?”

“Finn,” Poe says. It comes out a sigh.

Now he’s sure she’s smiling. “Yes.”

“Yeah,” Poe says, blinking hard to try to keep his eyes open. “Please.”

“All right.” She reaches out to brush the curls away from his forehead, which should probably be embarrassing but just feels sort of nice. “But get some rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Poe says, and he’s drifting off again before she’s even out the door.

*

He wakes up again to Finn’s voice, which is great, because that’s one of his top three favorite ways to wake up in the world. Finn’s talking softly to him, holding his hand, and Poe takes a while to understand the actual words.

“Rey sent me a picture of BeeBee,” Finn says. His thumb brushes back and forth over Poe’s palm. “She has him all tucked in for bed — in _my_ bed, by the way — and she took him out before to get a new toy and everything, it’s ridiculous, he’s getting all spoiled. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Thanks,” Poe murmurs without opening his eyes, and feels Finn freeze.

“Hey,” Finn says, breathless. “Hey, you’re awake.”

“Working on it,” Poe answers, and shifts his shoulders, curls his toes, tries to get some sense of what’s hurt and what isn’t. Ribs, he remembers. Concussion. Was that it? This time?

Finn lets out this heavy sigh, and then he kisses Poe’s forehead. “You don’t have to,” he says. “You can sleep. You’re supposed to sleep.”

“Wanna see you,” Poe answers, and manages to open his eyes right then, which is some damn good timing, so at least he’s gotten something right in the last twenty-four hours. Finn’s sitting by the bed and smiling at him, but his eyes are glassy, and Poe suddenly wants to lean up and kiss him more than anything in the world. He settles for squeezing Finn’s hand.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, like a moron. Like he’s hosting the world’s worst dinner party.

Finn gives a ragged laugh. “You have no idea,” he says. “You have no idea how fucking — fuck, man, you scared me.”

Poe frowns. He drags Finn’s hand toward his lips, presses a firm kiss to Finn’s knuckles and then just holds both their hands together against his chest, too dizzy to let go.

“Sorry,” he says, and then repeats it for some reason. It’s a weirdly easy word to say right now. It’s like he’s caught on it. “Sorry, sorry.”

But Finn doesn’t like pointless apologies either, and he shakes his head and touches Poe’s cheek with his free hand, lets his fingers trail down over the stubble on Poe’s jaw. He says, “You’re okay.”

Is he? Poe thinks back, tries to pick reality out from muddled memory. “Concussion,” he comes up with. “Broken ribs. Um. Couple of those. Right?”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Poe gives him a tired grin. “S’nothing. You shoulda seen last time.”

He hears Finn’s breath catch, and then exhale in another shaky laugh. “I don’t know, man, I don’t think I could’ve handled that.”

“It wasn’t good,” Poe agrees.

“No. I know.”

“You stay here all night?” Poe asks, squinting, trying to find a clock somewhere in the room.

“It’s still night.”

“Oh.” And then realization hits him. “Wait, you — you have class.”

“Tomorrow, yeah.”

“You should go home,” Poe says, shifting up onto his elbows. It hurts, but it’s impossible to tell where the hurt is coming from anyway, so he ignores it. “Go home and sleep.”

Finn shakes his head again. “Poe — ”

“Buddy, I’m fine.”

Finn snorts. “You’re definitely not fine.”

Poe tips his head just slightly in acknowledgment. That hurts a _lot._ The drugs are probably wearing off — they’ve gotta be, since he’s speaking in mostly-complete sentences and everything. “I’m gonna be, though. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Me either.”

Poe lets out a quiet, exasperated huff. But he hasn’t let go of Finn’s hand, so he’s not really sure who he thinks he’s fooling.

*

Kalonia releases him late the next afternoon with a bottle of pills, strict instructions as to how much he’s allowed to do (surprise: it’s approximately nothing), and a follow-up appointment scheduled for the end of the week. She gives him said instructions in front of Finn—in fact she mainly seems to be _addressing_ Finn, which is sort of humiliating and sort of a relief, because Poe can’t seem to hold onto anything anybody’s telling him for very long. He doesn’t know if that’s the drugs or the concussion.

Snap comes and picks them up in the green soccer mom van, the one Poe and Jess had made fun of nonstop for like a full six months after Karé and Snap bought it. Poe’s kind of grateful for it now, though, because it’s got room for him to lie down semi-comfortably across the backseat, his head in Finn’s lap.

And Finn holds him steady, threading his fingers gently through Poe’s hair, which is almost nice enough to make up for the swell of nausea every time they hit a bump or take a tight turn.

“Everybody’s waiting for you, boss,” Snap tells him, after they’ve pulled out of the hospital parking lot. Poe tilts his head in time to see Snap’s anxious glance. His voice is steady, though, not a trace of nerves, because that’s Snap for you. “I just wanna warn you. I tried to tell ’em to hold off, but—well, you know how they get.”

Poe mulls this over for a moment. It’s not like it’s surprising; probably he’s just lucky they hadn’t mobbed his hospital room, but...

“Are they mad at me?” he asks.

“No,” Snap answers, too quickly. “It’s not your fault, man, we know that.”

“Jess is still gonna yell at me,” Poe mumbles, lifting his arm to hide his eyes.

“Jess isn’t gonna yell at you,” Snap says, but even he sounds sort of doubtful.

*

Jess doesn’t yell at him, and that’s worse, actually. As it turns out. Instead she just looks at him like—like he’s being dragged into the medbay on a stretcher again, like she thought he was dead, like she’s worried he still might be.

The others alternate between scolding and threatening. Iolo tells him he’s a lucky bastard and sounds deeply irritated about it, following behind as Snap and Finn walk Poe carefully to his bed. Karé brings him a glass of water and tells him that if he fucks up his doctor’s orders this time around she’s going to send him right back to the hospital, which just seems counterproductive.

But Jess is quiet, and Jess is never quiet, so Poe waits until the others are huddled out in the kitchen together before he reaches out and lightly punches her on the arm. “Pava, I’m fine.”

“I know that,” she says, frowning down at him. “You’re always fine. You get shot down and you get hit by cars and you drop out of the fucking sky and you’re fine. Every time.”

“Every time,” Poe agrees.

Jess grips his hand. Hard enough to hurt, maybe on purpose.

“Pava,” he says again, quieter. “I didn’t mean to...”

“I know,” Jess repeats. “I know. I can’t even get mad at you. I’m _not_ mad at you, I just.” She lets go of him, clenches her hands into fists instead, resting just above her knees. “You don’t know what it was like,” she says. “You didn’t have to watch any of us come back like that.” 

“I—”

“If you apologize to me, Dameron, I swear to god—”

“No, I just. I wish you didn’t have to. To watch that.”

Jess doesn’t say anything for a moment. And then she climbs onto the bed beside him, leaning back across the pillows and staring up at the ceiling. “I still dream about it,” she says, after a while.

And for some reason, Poe chokes on a laugh. “Me too,” he says.

Jess shifts onto her side to look at him, propped up on her elbow, her hair falling over her shoulder. “So you’re pretty concussed, huh?”

Poe makes a face at her. “Do I look concussed?”

Jess snorts. “Poe, you look like—I don’t know, you look like you crawled out of a wreck.”

“Didn’t crawl,” Poe says indignantly, and closes his eyes against a sudden wave of nausea. “Stood right up and walked out.”

“’Course you did,” Jess says. “Commander Dameron always rises to the challenge.”

Poe opens his mouth to say something to that, although he isn’t sure what, isn’t sure if he ever manages to get it out. Delayed exhaustion from the ride home is pouring over him now, thick and heavy.

He must say something, though, because Jess says, “Yeah, always. Don’t start with that shit again.”

*

The next time he wakes up it’s with BB-8 sleeping next to him, and Finn out cold next to BB, lying flat on his back with his mouth open. Poe strokes BB’s ears and watches Finn for a while, considers leaning over to kiss his cheek before he remembers his ribs. So instead he sits up cautiously, feeling a distinct lack of pain meds in his system, and pads toward the kitchen as quietly as he can.

Which, as it turns out, is a good move, because there are no less than five people sleeping in his living room.

Karé and Snap are sprawled out together with some pillows on the floor, Jess and Iolo are somehow managing to share the couch, and Rey — _Rey_ is here, for some reason, sleeping curled up in the armchair, which cannot possibly be comfortable.

Poe stops cold, blinking at his unexpected house guests. He opens his mouth, then closes it, because. Well. Okay? Okay. Sure.

He inches along behind the couch, silent as he can be, and manages somehow to get an entire pot of coffee brewed without anybody getting up. But all it takes is the sound of BB-8 jumping off the bed and shaking his collar for everybody to start shifting.

Snap is the first one fully awake, and he sees Poe and sits up, disheveled but smiling. “Hey, bud,” he says.

“Snap,” Poe answers, standing there and looking around as Iolo and Jess disentangle themselves, and Karé brushes at her hair, and Rey stretches like a cat. He clears his throat. “You guys know I’m not dying, right?”

“Never can tell with you,” Karé answers, and stands up. “You made coffee?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, and watches as she goes over to start pouring out mugs. He turns back toward the ragtag gathering in his living room. “Yeah, so, for the record? For the room at large. Not dying.” He winces at a sharp flare of pain in his side as he goes to sit down at the kitchen table. “Broken ribs,” he says, half-reminding himself. “But no death in the forecast. Promise I’ll call if that changes.”

“You can’t kick us out,” Iolo says.

Poe fixes him with what he hopes is a stern look. “Did I say I was gonna kick you out?”

“I’m being proactive.”

“I _could_ kick you out.”

Iolo arches one manicured brow. “But you’re not going to.”

Poe starts to rub at his forehead, feels the line of stitches there, and stops. “You know, I don’t know yet?” he says. “And Rey, don’t take this the wrong way, but — why are you here?”

“BeeBee,” Rey says simply, which she seems to feel is explanation enough. She’s trailing Jess and Iolo toward the coffee now.

“Right. Okay, I’m...”

“You’re s’posed to be resting, boss,” Snap says calmly. “Don’t worry about us.”

“You’re all in my _apartment_.”

“Yeah, and we can take care of ourselves.”

“Don’t you have jobs?” Poe tries.

“Don’t _worry_ about us,” Snap repeats, and comes over to sit down with him at the table as Karé doles out coffee to the two of them. Poe hadn’t even realized he had that many mugs. In fact he’s pretty sure he _doesn’t_ have that many mugs, but — there are more important things to focus on just now.

“My job is worrying about you,” Poe mutters, and gets a gentle shove at his shoulder from Karé.

“You’re retired, Commander Dumbass.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I forget,” Poe retorts. “Under special circumstances. Like when my entire squadron shows up uninvited to my living room.” 

“Rey came too,” Jess points out, and Rey beams sleepily at him.

“Yeah,” Poe says, and somehow he can’t help smiling back at her. “Yeah. Listen, thanks for taking care of BeeBee.”

“He’s the best,” Rey says, with a wave of her hand.

“Yeah,” Poe says, grinning. “I know.”

“You’re not s’posed to be up,” comes Finn’s voice from the bedroom, and Poe turns very, very carefully to see his boyfriend looking deeply dismayed and also wearing one of Poe’s hoodies. BB-8 isn’t far behind. He comes bounding past Finn, tail wagging wildly, apparently overjoyed to see the living room still full of people.

“Oh, BeeBee, you need to go out,” Poe murmurs. He starts to stand up and gets an immediate chorus of reprimands, ranging from “Don’t you _dare_ ,” (Finn) to “Poe fucking Dameron, you sit the fuck down” (Jess).

He sits back down.

“I’ll do it,” Rey says brightly, and goes over to clip BB’s leash on. She _also_ appears to be wearing one of Poe’s hoodies, somehow? Poe decides not to question this.

“You’re not supposed to be up,” Finn repeats, less gravelly and sleep-deprived sounding this time. “Kalonia said—”

“I’m fine,” Poe protests. It comes out significantly more whiny than he’d meant, so he rolls with it, exaggerates it to his liking. “We have _company_ over, Finn, don’t embarrass me.”

Jess snorts. “Go back to bed, Dameron,” she says. “We can take it from here.”

He wants to argue with her, he really, truly does, but he’s already starting to feel exhaustion creeping up again. “I don’t know,” he says, leaning back in the chair. “I think you m—” And then there’s a stab of pain to his ribs that jolts him forward again, knocks the air right out of him. His head pounds and his vision strobes, and he blinks himself back in time to see Jess and Snap exchanging glances.

“Okay, boss, you’re done,” Snap says firmly, and somehow Finn’s in front of Poe with the bottle of meds Kalonia had given them.

“You’re taking two of these,” Finn says, shaking the pills out into his palm, “and then you’re done.”

Poe wants to protest this frankly insulting treatment — he isn’t a kid, he’s done the hospital thing enough times to know how to take care of his own damn self — but Finn’s face is very close to his now and it’s distracting.

“You need to shave,” Poe tells him, and reaches out to touch Finn’s jawline, trailing fingertips over rough stubble. Finn blinks at him and then smiles, his expression softening.

“Yeah. And you need to take two of these.” He presses the pills into Poe’s hand and sets a glass of water on the table. Poe swallows them down with the practiced ease of the semi-professional patient. Things start to go fuzzy pretty quick after that.

“It’s another fade to black,” Poe informs Finn, as he’s escorted back toward his bed.

“A what?” Finn says, and Poe sighs.

“A fade,” he says mournfully. “To black. End scene. That’s my life now. Like, for the movie version.” He probably isn’t making complete sense, but Finn doesn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” Finn says, and helps Poe sit down on the edge of the bed. Which is not a thing he should require help for, which makes him feel suddenly and disproportionately sad.

“The movie,” Poe repeats, shifting himself slowly, slowly toward lying down. Broken ribs. Why did it have to be _ribs?_ Broken ribs are a pain in the — well. The ribs. He almost laughs aloud at that, but he doesn’t really feel like getting any more worried looks from Finn today.

“The movie,” he repeats instead, a third time. “It’s a, you know. Action thing. Dashing pilot—”

Finn’s lips quirk upward. “Dashing, huh?”

“—escapes wreck, gets all...” Poe waves a hand sort of around his face. He’s actually not one hundred percent certain what he’s trying to indicate; his thoughts are getting more and more slippery. “And then. Fades to black. And that’s me, now. Just like that. Over and over.”

“Oh, yeah,” says Finn, like he gets it now, and Poe thinks maybe he actually _does_ , which is probably some kind of miracle.

He really likes that about Finn. The overall miraculousness of him. He tells Finn this, he’s pretty sure, except his words are slurring now.

“You like my _miraculousness?_ ” Finn says, and Poe starts to nod vehemently, then stops, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“I — yeah. Yes,” he mumbles.

“Okay,” Finn says, after a pause, and he leans down to kiss Poe very, very lightly, just below the cut on his brow. Poe closes his eyes and sighs.

And as the fade-to-black picks up speed, he hears Finn say, “I like yours too.”

*

*

*

He doesn’t dream about the crash. Either of them. He dreams about Muran, standing at the edge of the airfield, looking up at the stars.

And then he wakes up alone in the dark, head throbbing, ribs burning. He wakes up alone in the _dark_ , and that’s not — not right, that shouldn’t — this can’t — he can’t he _can’t_ —

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” comes Snap’s voice, and Poe doesn’t realize he’s sitting up until he feels Snap’s hand gently pushing him back down. “Breathe,” Snap says.

So Poe does. It hurts like hell, like there’s a knife between his ribs, but he does. Somewhere between deep breaths three and four, Snap flicks on the bedside light, and Poe’s heart stops racing quite so fast.

“Can you leave that on,” he hears himself say hoarsely, and doesn’t know why he’s saying it. Knows Snap isn’t gonna shut it off and leave him in the dark, but just in case — just in case, he has to...

“Sure,” Snap says easily, like it’s not a weird request at all. “Got you some water here. Snacks, too, if you want ’em.”

“Thanks,” Poe says, too quiet. And he doesn’t want to say it, he doesn’t want Snap to know, doesn’t want anyone to know, but the words trip out of his mouth anyway: “I was...I mean, they...kept me in the dark.”

He feels Snap tense just from the hand on his arm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not a big deal, it hasn’t been, like, an actual problem. I dunno why I thought of it. The meds, maybe, they’re...” He gestures vaguely at his head.

“Could be, sure.”

Poe nods, then lowers his head and swallows, waits until he knows his voice won’t crack before he asks. “Where’s BeeBee?”

“Finn’s out walking him,” Snap says, sitting on the edge of the bed now. His hand has moved to Poe’s shoulder, just resting there. “Asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“He worries too much,” Poe mutters.

Snap squeezes Poe’s shoulder. “I think he worries the right amount.”

Poe shakes his head a little. “Is everybody still –?”

“Just me and Finn. Figured you’d want some space.”

Poe snorts. “Little late for that.” It’s not very nice of him, he knows that, but he’s still on edge, nerves jolting at every noise from the apartment building hallway. Footsteps sounding too close, a door closing too loud, murmuring voices he can’t understand, and his dog isn’t here, and Finn isn’t here, and he woke up alone, he woke up alone in the dark.

“They needed to see you,” Snap says quietly. “They don’t...you scared everybody, back then, you know? So I told them you were okay, but they needed to see it. They wanted to make sure.”

“Didn’t do it on purpose.”

Snap frowns at him. “What?”

“You said — the way you said it. Like I wanted to scare you.” Poe reaches out for the water bottle on the bedside table. His hands aren’t shaking, so he takes a sip.

Snap’s hand drifts back down, away from Poe. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Somebody slams a door somewhere in the hallway. Poe’s shoulders jump.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m...look, I’m sorry, Snap, I can’t...”

“It’s okay,” Snap says. Like he means it. Like it really is somehow.

"Yeah," Poe repeats. And isn't sure, suddenly, if he believes it.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment he gets the phone call, there’s a small, sure voice in Finn’s mind that says, _You knew this was coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this has been a long time coming and I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who left kudos on the first chapter, and especially thank you to those who’ve left comments. I haven’t been able to respond to them as quickly as I’d like, but please know that each time I get a comment on this series it fills me with joy. I’ve poured a lot into this, and it means so much to know it’s resonated with some people, or even just that it made you laugh or provided an entertaining distraction.
> 
> I also should thank my good friends Amanda and Sandra for their help with this chapter specifically; they were immensely supportive throughout my agonizing over approximately eight million different drafts.
> 
> Lastly, I just want to say that I know things are scary right now, and I hope you’re all staying safe. If you’re feeling overwhelmed because of current events or just life events, I hope this story can offer a bit of escapism. I’ll be doing my best to get the next chapter or two up as soon as I can. Until then, be well, and thank you again.

The moment he gets the phone call, there’s a small, sure voice in Finn’s mind that says, _You knew this was coming._

Even as Han keeps talking, telling him Poe is fine ( _he got tossed around a little, but he’ll be all right_ ), this part of Finn keeps on insisting there’s no way that’s true, doesn’t he know that can’t be true? The statements _Poe was in an accident_ and _Poe is okay_ cannot possibly coexist.

_You knew this was coming. You knew it couldn’t stay like this._

He doesn’t even remember later what he’d said to Han, his own voice too far away and hollow. He remembers the roaring in his ears, the numbness in his legs as he’d walked around the front desk to go and find Rey where she was lying beneath the belly of a battered sportscar. He doesn’t exactly remember what he’d said to her either, but she’d rolled out from beneath the car with grease on her face and such a worried expression that it made him feel guilty for saying anything at all.

_Go,_ Rey had said. _Go, I can — no, Rose can drive you. I’ll take BeeBee. It’ll be okay._

He must have given her some kind of look at that last part, because she’d grabbed his hand and repeated it more firmly: _Finn, it’ll be okay._

Rose had said that too, when she’d dropped him off at the hospital parking lot. Her hand reached up to find his shoulder, squeezing tight. _Go on, he’s waiting for you. It’ll be okay._

And Finn remembers how incredibly, unshakably certain he’d been that both of them were wrong.

The hospital itself had been a blur of intersecting white hallways, an impossibly slow elevator ride, rolling carts and hushed voices and finally, finally the right room number, and then Poe —

And then, Poe. Lying on his back in a hospital bed, stitches curved dark across his forehead, one bruised arm held protectively over his chest as he slept. Unconscious but breathing steadily, with the accompanying chorus of machinery to prove it. 

The sight had stopped Finn cold, sneakers scuffing to a halt on tile floor.

No emergency, no danger. Just Poe Dameron, safely stitched together and sleeping off another near-death experience.

Poe Dameron, whole and alive.

He remembers how stunned he’d been, that Rey and Rose were right.

And how terrible it had been, to see Poe so still and quiet.

And how Finn’s chest had ached, when Poe opened his eyes at last.

*

It takes a few days after that for Finn’s heart to stop leaping to his throat every time his phone rings. He hasn’t been back to his own apartment for more than a few hours at a time since the accident, which these days isn’t exactly unusual, but...

But lately he just wants to stay at Poe’s place for — for forever, probably; he has this newfound, irrational desire to keep Poe in his line of sight at all times, like some kind of neurotic watchdog.

He also has work, and school, both of which Poe keeps reminding him about in drowsy but insistent tones. 

“Don’t throw your career away for some dumb guy,” Poe advises on the third morning after the accident, when Finn’s lingering too long in the kitchen, re-washing the same coffee mug he’d just dried. (There’s a stubborn stain, and he might as well get it out now, because it’ll only set if he leaves it, and he still has plenty of time to get to class anyway, and, and, and.)

Poe’s propped up at the kitchen table with his own mug in hand, still in pajama pants and a tank top, and looking — well. Looking drugged up and slightly miserable. But he manages a smile when Finn shoots him an exasperated glance.

“I’m _going_ ,” Finn says. “I just told you I was going.”

“See, you keep saying that,” Poe replies. “And it’s not like I don’t want you around or anything, but —”

“But you’re concerned for my career trajectory.”

Poe nods, leaning forward in his chair. “Exactly. I’m really —” He stiffens suddenly and looks past Finn, as though something very interesting is happening somewhere beyond the dish rack. “Uh. Concerned,” he adds, belatedly. 

Finn follows his gaze, raising his eyebrows. “Is there a ghost in your kitchen?” 

Poe makes a face at him. “No, I just...” He leans back gingerly, lifting a hand and sketching a vague line toward his side. “...ribs,” he finishes. 

Finn sets down the mug and comes over to sit across from Poe, eyeing him up and down. “If you need somebody to stay with you today...”

“Buddy, if you don’t go to class I’m gonna call Rey and tell her she needs to stage an intervention,” Poe says, all focus returned. There’s an obvious tension in his jaw, though, and he’s leaning oddly against the table, probably trying to avoid putting pressure on his ribs again. “Anyway, Pava’s coming. She just texted.”

“Oh,” says Finn, some of the worry easing out of him. “Good.”

“Yeah,” Poe says, though he doesn’t seem particularly thrilled. He starts to reach down under the table toward BB-8, then grimaces and stops halfway, leaving BB to reach up instead and lick his hand.

“You took your meds, right?” Finn says before he can stop himself, and nearly winces at his own words. _I don’t know if you know this, Wexley, but I’m an adult_ , Poe had grumbled at Snap the other day when he’d asked the same question. But now Poe just refocuses on Finn and smiles, tired but fond.

“Yes, Doctor Finn.” He nods toward the door. “Go on, you’re gonna be late.”

“I am not,” Finn says, offended at the very idea. He stands up, going over to kiss Poe on the forehead, careful to avoid his stitches. “Have a good time with Jess.”

Poe sighs. “She’s gonna be so mean to me.”

“You mean she’s gonna make you follow your doctor’s orders,” Finn says, turning toward the door.

“Same thing. Wait a sec, c’mere.” Poe grabs his wrist, and Finn turns back around, taking one long stride over to kiss Poe properly this time. Poe’s grinning when they part, looking up at Finn with a light in his eyes that’s been scarce since the hospital.

“Okay,” he says, “now go learn physics.”

*

The rest of the week is like that — Finn loitering around Poe’s place, making his reluctant exits for work and for school while Poe remains almost suspiciously compliant with Kalonia’s orders. Probably that has something to do with the various military veterans dropping in on him throughout the week (“Babysitting,” Poe complains), but still. 

Still. Finn’s distracted all through his classes, his pen moving across the page of his notebook, brain somehow transmitting notes even as it drifts off to parts unknown. At the garage he writes the wrong number on an order form and almost ends up buying ten _thousand_ gallons of brake fluid, and after that Rey takes him aside.

“You’re all in your head,” she informs him, walking him over to the break room with her hand at the small of his back.

“I don’t know what that means,” Finn says stubbornly.

Rey frowns as she closes the door behind them. “You’re all...” She lifts a hand toward his face and waves it around like she’s casting some kind of spell on him. (Maybe she is. Maybe Luke Skywalker is teaching her magic now.) “... _stuck_ here. In your head. Worrying.”

“Why would I be worrying?” Finn asks, and he’s not sure if he’s trying to reason with her or himself. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Rey leans back against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. “There’s _something_ , or you wouldn’t have tried to drown us all in brake fluid.”

Finn huffs. “I made a mistake. People make mistakes.”

“Finn,” Rey says, tilting her chin down to give him a Look. “What’s going on? Is everything with Poe all right?”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “No. I mean, I think so. No, he’s fine. Yeah.”

Rey raises her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, did you want to try that again?”

“He’s fine,” Finn repeats, lifting a hand to rub at his temple. “He’s fine, but _I’m_...” He stops, looking at the bulletin board on the wall beside Rey, with its assortment of tacked up reminders and announcements and demands. “He thinks I’m worrying too much,” Finn tells it.

“I can’t imagine why,” Rey says dryly, but there’s a note of concern in her voice, and Finn’s eyes shift back to her. She’s watching him closely in that silent, terrifying way she has sometimes, waiting for him to go on.

“You know what’s weird?” Finn says abruptly. “I keep thinking about the plane.” Which...isn’t what he’d meant to say at all. It also doesn’t seem to be what Rey was expecting at all, because she frowns at him.

“Poe’s plane?”

Finn nods, and then the words just keep spilling out. It’s like the part of him that’s normally in control of his brain-to-mouth filter has just stepped aside, observing the proceedings with mild surprise. Maybe Rey did cast a spell on him.

“I keep...thinking about it falling,” he hears himself say slowly. “I keep picturing it. Except I don’t even know what it looks like? He just said ‘the Piper,’ but I looked it up, and there’s all different kinds of Pipers. So I keep just picturing all these random planes...” He lifts his hand and arcs it slowly down toward the ground again. “...falling out of the sky.”

“Cheerful,” Rey observes, and Finn shrugs.

“You know me,” he says, smiling tightly. Rey tilts her head at him thoughtfully. 

“It’s probably normal, isn’t it?” she asks. “To be a bit shaken up after your boyfriend almost dies?”

“He didn’t almost die,” Finn says quickly. It seems vital to correct her on this point. “He just...” But then he trails off, because he’s picturing it again. A vaguely shaped plane spiraling toward the ground, nose-first. And he’s hearing it again, the doctor talking about concussions and broken ribs and the possibility of internal bleeding.

“He could have,” Rey finishes. She studies him. "Do you remember when we drove out here, and you kept worrying we’d crash the van?"

Finn purses his lips. "I wasn't worried about us crashing,” he says, “I was worried somebody was gonna _hit_ us, because everybody here drives like—"

"Yes, all right, but you remember that. You kept stressing about it more and more, the closer we got."

"Yeah, because again, everyone here drives like they're insane."

Rey doesn’t acknowledge this. Probably, Finn thinks, because it’s common sense. "All I mean,” she says, “is that just because you get used to bad things happening, to people leaving...it doesn't mean they're always going to. And if you keep worrying they are, you never get to just…" She shrugs. "To just _have_ things. To enjoy having them."

Finn swallows. His throat feels thick all of the sudden, his thoughts flipped upside down in a way only Rey can achieve. "Is that Skywalker wisdom?" he asks at last.

Rey beams. "Nope. That one’s mine.”

“It’s good,” Finn says sincerely. “You should write a book.”

Rey walks past him toward the door again, patting his shoulder as she does. “And you should talk to Poe.”

Finn frowns after her. “Why? It...he can’t do anything about it. It was an accident.”

“Because he’s your boyfriend, and he loves you, and he wants you to tell him how you feel,” Rey answers. Like this is just common knowledge. Which, fine, maybe it is, but still. “He could tell you what the Piper looks like,” she adds. “Maybe then you won’t have to imagine it.”

“Or maybe I’ll get to imagine it in extra detail,” Finn points out, following her back toward the garage.

“There you go,” Rey says. “Positive thinking.” 

*

He doesn’t talk to Poe about it when he gets home later, because he doesn’t actually _see_ Poe when he gets home later. BB-8 comes galloping joyfully to the door as per usual, dancing around Finn’s feet in circles and tripping him so that he almost falls face-forward into the tile. But Poe, who’s reliably been camped out either on the couch or at the kitchen table for the past few days, is nowhere to be found now.

“Poe?” Finn calls, leaning down to pet BB-8 (partly just in order to ensure his safe passage through the living room), and trying to ignore the fear twisting sharp in his gut. There are a few unfamiliar tupperware containers stacked on the counter, so somebody’d been over with food earlier. So maybe they went out.

( _Without BeeBee?_ his mind argues. _You know he wouldn’t. Not unless—)_

There’s a crash, suddenly, from somewhere down the hallway, and Finn rushes toward it, practically vaulting over BB-8 in the process.

_(_ — _unless something happened._ )

The light’s on in the bathroom, and Finn can hear the shower running through the door, so he raps on it lightly. “Poe,” he calls again. “Poe, you okay?”

There’s a pause. The water switches off, and then the door opens and there’s Poe, soaked and bedraggled to the shoulders of his t-shirt, but entirely unharmed. Or, well, not...additionally harmed. And suddenly Finn can breathe again. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.

“Man, you scared me,” he says before he can help himself, and for a jarring fraction of a second he’s back in the hospital again, looking down at a groggy, barely conscious Poe. _Fuck, man, you scared me._

Finn blinks himself back in time to see Poe’s expression shift toward concern.

“Hey,” Poe says. “Sorry, I just, um, sorta walked into a shelf?” He seems puzzled about this.

“You — what?”

“The...shelf rack thing, on the door, I...” Poe starts to lift his hands, then drops them again like he doesn’t know what to do with them. There’s an odd look in his eyes, but it's impossible to read because they keep glancing away from Finn. “I was tryin’ to wash my hair, but I...” He shakes his head. “How was your day?”

Finn frowns at this rapid change of subject. “My day was okay,” he says, carefully. “You...what happened with your hair?”

Poe looks up at Finn for real now, holding his gaze. And this time Finn recognizes the look in his eyes as shame.

“I can’t,” he starts, then stops again, and appears to regroup. “I can’t hold my arms above my head all that long yet. I mean, I can _do_ it, it just hurts like hell, so I...can’t.” It sounds like it’s costing him a world of effort to get out that last word, and his eyes drift away from Finn’s again.

“So you, what, fought with the shower nozzle?” Finn says, looking him up and down, and Poe cracks a grin.

“I thought if I could get it to reach the sink, I could figure somethin’ out, but...”

“Hang on,” Finn says, filing away the dubious details of this plan as something to return to later. “You haven’t washed your hair in a week? How have I not noticed this?”

Poe shrugs. “The magic of dry shampoo,” he says wryly, miming a spray bottle at his head, then fidgets in place. “And, uh, you haven’t been...you haven’t been touching it all that much. ‘Cause of my grievous wound,” he says, tapping lightly at his own brow, just beside the line of stitches there.

There’s a note of _something_ in his voice there, and Finn narrows his eyes. “Are you — and you’re _sad_ about that?” he says, trying not to laugh.

Poe ducks his head, clearly trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah? Extremely. I’m being deprived here.”

“Really.”

“For real,” Poe confirms solemnly.

So Finn reaches out and very deliberately runs his fingers through Poe’s hair, watches him bite his lip, watches his eyes flicker closed for just a second. Which would all be great, except. Yeah. That’s. Distinctly greasy.

“Okay,” Finn says, drawing his hand back and looking Poe up and down. “We’re doing this.”

“We’re doing — what?” Poe says, eyes blinking open, a little bit dazed.

“Washing your hair. C’mon, I have an idea.”

*

They work it out like this: a chair dragged up to the kitchen sink, Poe sitting with his back facing it and a towel snug around his shoulders. He’d agreed readily enough to the idea, but he’s strangely quiet now, his jaw tense. Just tired, maybe, Finn thinks; he’s on less meds now but they still seem to take a lot out of him. 

BB-8, on the other hand, finds the whole thing extremely exciting for whatever reason; he keeps trying to leap up into Poe’s lap. It takes no less than six gentle admonishments and some bone-based bribery before the little dog finally lets out an absurdly loud sigh and gives up. He settles himself in the tiny gap between the chair and the sink instead, so that Finn has to keep watching out for his tail. 

“What’d you do today?” Finn asks as he sets up the counter with the shampoo and conditioner, and Poe tilts his head, fidgeting with his towel.

“Aside from accidental bathroom renovation?” he replies, and gives a half-shrug. “Karé came over. With lunch. And pie.”

Which explains the tupperware, except… “I thought Karé didn’t cook.”

“Snap does. S’in the fridge. Cherry. With the...criss-cross crust, you know, the...” Poe lifts his hands, makes an incomprehensible gesture.

“Lattice,” Finn supplies. He’d learned that working at Maz’s place, way back when. It feels like a hundred lifetimes ago now. 

“That,” Poe agrees. “Anyway, she took BeeBee out for a jog, made me stay in.” He wrinkles his nose. “Been meaning to ask, by the way. You guys know it was my ribs that broke, right? Not my legs?”

“Yeah, and I also know you still have a concussion,” Finn replies, turning the water on and waiting for it to warm up. 

“Buddy, I am like, _mildly_ concussed at _most_ ,” Poe answers, and Finn shakes his head.

“Tip your head back,” he instructs, and Poe obeys. He closes his eyes as Finn wets his hair with the spray nozzle, going quiet again. 

Finn's thumb brushes over the stitched-up cut on Poe's forehead, scarring now but still raw, and he draws in his breath with a sympathetic hiss. "I'm sorry."

"You're all right," Poe says, almost absently, like he hasn't even noticed. His shoulders have started to relax now, stiffness easing away. 

So Finn works shampoo through tangled curls, the water pouring warm over his hands. Something about it, the sound of the water running, BB-8’s tail swishing occasionally at their feet, the sound of cars going by outside — it’s soothing in a particular way Finn can’t quite place.

“Poe,” he says after a while, and when Poe opens his eyes again they’re tired, far away. But he smiles when he finds Finn’s gaze, like he can’t help it. Like it’s something automatic, built-in.

"Yeah?”

“I just…” Finn trails off, unable to find the words for what he feels right now, what he wants right now. “You know I’m here, right?” he says at last, and Poe’s smile fades.

“Yeah,” he repeats, shifting his shoulders a little. “I mean, I — yeah, ‘course I do. Why?”

_You try to do everything alone_ , Finn doesn’t say. _You try to do everything alone, and you get hurt, and I worry about you all the time._

“Just, if you need something,” Finn says, rinsing the shampoo, careful to keep away from Poe’s stitches this time. “I’m here. Even if I’m busy. I just… I want you to know that.”

Poe starts to nod, then stops when Finn touches his shoulder lightly, a reminder to keep still. “I do know that,” he says, softer than usual. And Finn waits, but he doesn’t tack on a joke, or try to lighten the mood, or brush anything off. He just looks up at the ceiling with this complicated expression that makes Finn want to reach out and smooth his brow. 

“But I… I don’t want you giving anything up,” he says, after a moment. “That’s all. You’ve got this whole…” He stops, swallows, and when he speaks again his voice is unexpectedly rough. “God, Finn, I don’t know, you’re so smart, and you’re so good, and I just don’t want you givin’ anything up, not for me.”

Finn stares at him for a second, then shakes his head, letting out a helpless laugh even as he reaches for the conditioner. Poe’s eyes flick up toward him in confusion. 

“I’m sorry,” Finn says, “I’m sorry, man, but you’re so — you’re so _stupid_ sometimes.”

“Uh-huh,” Poe replies, like this makes perfect sense. “You wanna tell me why, this time?”

“Because…” Finn pauses, trying to get his words together. “Because — dating you isn’t some kind of...weird extracurricular activity I got roped into, okay? You’re part of my life. I’m here because I wanna be here. I’m not sacrificing anything, you’re not forcing me to do anything. I’m here because I love you, and you’re an idiot.” Finn pauses. “Those last two things are separate. Did that...does that make any sense?”

Because Poe’s gazing up at Finn so intently all of the sudden, and when Finn says, uncertainly, “Poe?” he sits up, lifting his soaked head out of the sink against Finn’s protestations, and stands up to kiss Finn, dripping water everywhere as he goes. Finn catches him, holds onto him, tilts his head to deepen the kiss, which is profoundly wet and probably stupid and entirely wonderful. 

“I don’t know why you do,” Poe says when they part, noses still touching, water trickling down both their faces now. The sink’s still running. Finn should really shut it off, but he doesn’t move. 

Instead he just blinks at Poe. “What?”

“I don’t know why you love me,” Poe clarifies, his arms hooked loosely around Finn’s neck, “but I love you too.”

Finn laughs. It feels like the first time in days. “I know,” he says, hands going to Poe’s hips, and for a moment they stay that way, sort of just swaying together, slow-dancing to nothing, to the sounds of running water and evening traffic. And Finn realizes, all of the sudden, the name for the feeling he’d had before. _Home._ He feels like he’s home.

“We’re gonna slip,” Poe says, sliding one foot through a puddle of water as though to demonstrate. BB-8 takes this as his cue to jump up at them with a happy _rooooo_ , and they both laugh, Poe ducking his head to rest it on Finn’s shoulder for a moment.

“There’s still conditioner in your hair,” Finn says, reaching up to stroke through it. 

But they stay like that, for a little while longer.

  
  


*

Later, after pie has been microwaved and eaten straight from the tupperware, after _Mamma Mia!_ has been duly placed into the DVD player, and BB-8 has gotten a quick walk from Finn (Poe, in a show of graciousness, lets Finn go with only mild indignation)... After that, Finn’s mind starts to drift again.

He feels calmer, more content than he has in days, here on the couch with Poe’s still-damp head in his lap and an aquatic chemistry textbook in his hands, the movie playing more as background noise than anything else. Poe had closed his eyes a while ago after trailing off mid-sentence, and BB-8 soon followed suit, tucked into the space behind Finn’s legs. 

_Home_ , Finn thinks again, and he should be happy. But his mind won’t settle, and suddenly he’s picturing it, the latest in a rotating cast of imaginary planes, turning sharply downward and spiraling, falling to fiery pieces.

“Poe?” he says, before he can think better of it, and Poe stirs, lifting his head.

“Yeah?”

“What...what kind of Piper was it?”

Poe stares up at him, uncomprehending for a moment. “Uh,” he says. “It’s a J-3 Cub? It’s... hang on.” And he gets up stiffly before Finn can protest, going to retrieve a heavy book from the shelf in the corner, right below the photo of Shara Bey in her flightsuit. He’s flipped to the right page before he’s even shuffled back over to the couch, and he sinks down beside Finn, pointing down at a bright yellow biplane. It’s almost absurdly friendly looking. 

“This guy,” Poe says. “How come?”

Finn shrugs. “I just was...I wondered.”

Poe’s brow furrows, and he gives Finn a quick, searching look. He can always tell when Finn’s lost in his head, is the thing, can always tell when Finn’s not saying everything he means.

But he doesn’t call Finn on it, just sets the book down on the coffee table, still opened to the Piper’s page. Like he’s giving Finn space right now to find the right words, to say what he means.

And Finn, well, he’s trying. He is. The Rey voice in his head lectures him, as ever, about honesty and feelings — and, specifically, being honest about his feelings — and Finn draws a deep breath.

“I keep thinking about it falling,” he says, to the floor. “I keep trying to picture it.”

“Oh,” Poe says softly. He looks down at the page again, then back up at Finn. “It... Would it help if I told you about it?”

“I don’t know,” Finn says truthfully, because he hadn’t really considered that possibility. “Maybe. Yeah. If you want to.”

Poe nods slowly. “Okay, well. It didn’t…” He bites his lip, hesitating for a second. “I mean, it wasn’t so bad, you know? Probably wasn’t a whole lot to look at. It was more just... The engine, it’s really loud in one of these guys,” he taps at the picture of the Piper again, “so when it goes quiet all the sudden, you... you really feel it.” He swallows. “But that’s kind of all, it just went quiet, and then it started to drop, and I brought it in best I could.” Poe shrugs. “Like I said, not a whole lot to look at.” 

“I keep imagining some kind of fiery death spiral,” Finn admits, and Poe lets out a surprised laugh.

“Nah. Not this time.” He blinks, looking almost startled by his own words, and adds hastily, “I meant...just, it wasn’t a big deal. I mean, I know it wasn’t great, but I’m okay.”

“Felt like a pretty big deal to me,” Finn says, and he catches Poe’s gaze, wills himself to be brave enough to just say it, just _say_ it, just — “I was really fucking scared, man.”

_There,_ his inner Rey says to his hammering heart. _That wasn’t so bad, was it?_

Guilt passes over Poe’s face, and he lowers his eyes again. “Yeah,” he answers. “No, I know. I, uh...me too. Actually.” 

Finn takes his hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing once, then again when Poe squeezes back. He can’t do anything he wants to do right now. Can’t hold Poe the way he wants to without hurting him, can’t pin him to the couch cushions and kiss him till they’re both dizzy and warm and happy and not thinking about fiery crashes anymore. Can’t say, _I think Rey’s right, I think I’m always a little scared. Of losing you, of losing this, of losing everyone, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me, that I’m always scared._

He can’t. The words won’t come. And even if they did, he doesn’t know where they’d take him.

“I almost ordered ten thousand gallons of brake fluid today,” he says instead, and Poe turns back toward him, eyebrows raised.

“You tryin’ to drown somebody?”

“You and Rey,” Finn says, stifling a laugh. He lets go of Poe’s hand and reaches over to ruffle BB-8’s fur instead. “Always accusing.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re a shifty guy,” Poe says. “Always got a plan. Stealing people’s dogs. Refusing to let a guy out of his own home. The whole thing.”

Finn gives a short, exasperated sigh. “Okay, first of all, I — you think _plans_ are shifty?” 

“Sure,” Poe says. “Master plans. Evil plans.”

“Second of all,” Finn says, ignoring this, “you have a _concussion_. You got so dizzy earlier you almost fell over just standing there.”

“It felt like the floor moved,” Poe says, matter of fact, like this is a reasonable defense.

Finn gives him a disbelieving look. “Okay, see? Do you see why nobody wants you wandering the streets right now? You _bruised_ your _brain_.”

Poe grins. “No, that’s a contusion.”

“Why do you even know that?” 

“Experience,” Poe replies, as he settles himself back down on the couch again, resting his head on Finn’s thigh. 

Finn just shakes his head, picking his textbook back up. On the TV, Meryl Streep has just broken out into song, and Poe’s eyes have closed again even as he hums along, BB-8 snoring an accompaniment at the other end of the couch.

And for just that moment, Finn isn’t afraid of anything much at all.

*

_The Piper soars._

_Bright yellow and impossibly tiny in the wide blue sky, it dips and then rises again, circling soft white clouds with unbearable grace. Finn’s breath catches just watching it; it’s like he can feel Poe there at the controls, can feel the far reaches of his joy._

_And then all at once, the plane begins to spiral. Yellow flares to orange as flames burst outward, all but consuming the wings. Its nose tilts straight down, down, down toward the field below, black smoke choking out sunlight, pouring thick over everything until Finn can’t see anything at all._

_He runs. His feet pound across cracked pavement until he hits the grass, which turns to mud, and then he’s sinking with every step, struggling upward, fighting to get to Poe, because if he can’t get to Poe then he_ — _he can’t, he_ can’t —

“Finn?” Poe says. His voice is slow with sleep. “I’m here, buddy.”

Finn is sure he can’t speak, certain there’s no way he can get anything past the lump in his throat. But then he whispers, “I was dreaming.” He’s shocked to find his eyes are stinging with tears. Shocked to find the real Poe here beside him, after watching the dream Poe die.

“I know,” Poe answers. Poe, who does know, of course he knows all about dreams that shake you apart from the inside out, that leave you hollowed and aching when you wake. He reaches out to Finn, just a gentle tug at his arm. “But you’re here now, okay?”

Finn lets Poe draw him in close, until they’re resting heartbeat to heartbeat, Finn’s head on Poe’s shoulder. And they just...stay like that. They just hold each other and breathe. At the end of the bed, BB-8 snores in a familiar rhythm. Finn can see one white paw stretched out over the blankets.

“Doesn’t this hurt?” Finn asks after a while, blinking away unshed tears. Poe’s arms around him are a warm weight, a welcome anchor he doesn’t want to give up. _I’m here. You’re here now._

Somehow he can _feel_ Poe’s hesitance to answer before Finn’s even finished asking, some infinitesimal change in his posture, his breathing, his being.

“Kinda,” Poe says, after a beat. “But it’s gonna hurt either way.” He presses his face closer to Finn’s neck, and murmurs, “You don’t have to worry. I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Then stop getting hurt,” Finn tries to retort, but it comes out too small and too shaken. 

Poe doesn’t answer him for a few breaths, and then a few more, and Finn thinks maybe he just doesn’t have an answer this time at all. 

But then he says, “I don’t mean to,” in a strange, quiet voice. “Finn, I don’t ever mean to.”

Finn threads his fingers through Poe’s hair, silk-soft now and still, somehow, slightly damp. “I know you don’t.”

“If I coulda fixed it, I would’ve.”

Finn frowns. “If you... fixed what? The plane?”

“I dunno,” Poe says, tilting his head away from Finn again. Then, “No, yeah. The plane.”

“Can you fix a sudden engine failure in mid-air?” Finn asks, genuinely curious now, and Poe sighs.

“Um. Not really. Not this one.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

Poe makes a disgruntled noise, lifting his head to gaze at Finn in the near-dark. “Buddy, I’m s’posed to be the one comforting you right now.”

Finn laughs, startled, and the ache in his stomach eases just enough for him to take a long, deep breath. “You are,” he says.

He can see the smile spread across Poe’s face in the dim light from the bedside table lamp. “I am?”

“Yeah, I know, I’m surprised too.”

Poe shoves at Finn’s shoulder, but he’s grinning. “You come and share my bed in my own house—”

“It’s an apartment.”

“—only to mock me in front of my only son?”

“He’s asleep.”

“Yeah, well. You should be. You have class tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Finn says, settling back down onto the pillow. “You can’t sleep like that,” he informs Poe. “Like this. If it’s hurting you.”

“I told you, buddy, it—”

“Poe.”

A long-suffering exhale, and then, “Fine,” and Poe rolls carefully onto his back. Finn leans over to kiss him on the cheek.

“Your hair smells nice,” he tells him, and Poe lets out a soft laugh. 

And for a moment, flickering in the almost-dark, all Finn can see are Poe’s eyes. Bright and alive.

_I’m here. You’re here now._

Finn closes his eyes, and doesn’t dream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Piper J-3 Cub is [very yellow and, in my opinion, shaped like a friend](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/98/Piperj3c.jpg)!
> 
> (Also, on the off-chance that anyone is interested, there is [a playlist](https://soundcloud.com/meghan-bee/sets/dangerous-and-noble-things) I’ve been listening to while working on this story. [This song](https://soundcloud.com/danielaandrade/beach-house-take-care-cover-daniela-andrade) in particular was on repeat for the kitchen scene.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He barely feels it. He’d known he wouldn’t. He’s been through this plenty of times, knows the quick snick of surgical scissors cutting through stitches, the light tug of each thread pulled free. The cool antiseptic afterward, the thin strips of tape. It’s routine. It’s easy. It’s definitely nothing to throw yourself into a wall over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a while. I hope everyone is doing all right through the mess that is this year, and I really hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm anticipating one or two more chapters to wrap up this story, but in the meantime there will almost definitely be at least a month-long break for NaNo. Thank you for being so patient in waiting for updates, thank you for continuing to read, and be safe.

The first time he got stitches, he was four or five years old. It was just after they’d moved to the ranch, and Poe had wandered off somehow while his mom and dad were preoccupied patching up the fencing around the edges of the property. 

Well, at least, that’s how his dad tells the story. Poe only remembers it in pieces, flickers of scenes: the woods, thick and green and trilling with birdsong. A gnarled old tree at the edges, with branches stretching down toward him, too inviting to ignore. The rough bark scratching at his palms as he lifted himself higher and higher, till finally he stood up on the highest branch he could reach, all shaking legs and fast-beating heart.

In his memory the sky through the branches is bright, bright blue, and Poe feels the wind ruffle his hair, hears birds chirping, feels this wild and green-leafed joy rushing through him right alongside the fear. He figures maybe his mind somehow filled that stuff in later, but still, it’s in there.

The falling part he can’t remember at all. His dad always makes a whole big thing of it — _you split your knee right open, blood everywhere, I almost had a heart attack. Wanted to keep you on a leash after that but your mom said no._ But all Poe ever remembers clearly is the part where he’s standing there on a tree branch, looking up at the sky. 

Except...that’s not right, exactly. There’s this one other small, clear slice of memory: his mom in the doctor’s office later, holding Poe in her lap. _You’re being very brave,_ she’d told him, and it had made Poe proud, even as he screwed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see the needle. 

He hasn’t thought about that in a long time, isn’t sure why he’s thinking of it suddenly now in Kalonia’s office. He’s had plenty of stitches since that first time, plenty of more recent memories to draw from. He doesn’t even have the scar from that one anymore.

Probably won’t have a scar this time either, Kalonia tells him as she cleans this latest set of stitches with an antiseptic pad, and Poe just barely stops himself from nodding. 

“You’re pretty quiet today,” Kalonia observes, bringing the surgical scissors up carefully toward his forehead. 

And Poe starts to answer, except suddenly he can’t breathe. Can’t _see_. It’s like somebody’s hit him upside the head — the room spins into a mess of blurring colors, there’s a ringing in his ears, and then somehow he’s up against the wall, his back aching from the impact. He blinks, finding Kalonia’s face further away now, her brow furrowed. 

“I,” he says, but can’t get anything else out. His voice won’t come. He feels heat rising to his face, his ears close to burning, and he can barely manage to look at Kalonia. His heart hammers so quick and solid in his chest that he’s afraid she can hear it. He’s afraid _Finn’s_ gonna somehow hear it, sitting out in the waiting room. 

“It’s all right,” Kalonia tells him, matter-of-fact enough that he almost believes her. “Just catch your breath.” She sets the scissors back on their metal tray with a soft _clink_. 

Poe inhales, exhales, and realizes with a rush of shame that he’s holding his arms over his chest, fingers digging into his own forearms, hard enough to hurt. He drops his hands to his sides, shifting forward again to sit at the edge of the exam table. “Sorry,” he says, and lets out this hoarse, barely-a-laugh. “Sorry, that was... that was stupid, I don’t...”

“No, it wasn’t,” Kalonia answers calmly. “Did you bring anybody with you? Someone you’d want in the room?”

“No,” Poe says, too fast, then winces. It’s not that — it’s not like Finn wouldn’t be okay with it if he asked, he just — he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to, that’s all.

“All right,” Kalonia says. “Then catch your breath, and tell me when you’re ready.”

Poe nods, closing his eyes and taking a deep, slow breath, trying to swallow his shame in the process.

“Okay,” he tells Kalonia after a moment, his eyes still shut.

He barely feels it. He’d known he wouldn’t. He’s been through this plenty of times, knows the quick _snick_ of surgical scissors cutting through stitches, the light tug of each thread pulled free. The cool antiseptic afterward, the thin strips of tape. It’s routine. It’s easy. It’s definitely nothing to throw yourself into a wall over. 

“There,” Kalonia says, and when Poe opens his eyes she’s smiling at him. “All set.”

He swallows and manages a smile back. “All set, as in, I’m cured?”

“All set, as in, your stitches are out,” Kalonia answers, an amused quirk to her lips. “If you’re asking me if you can fly a plane two weeks after sustaining a concussion, that would be a no.”  
  
Poe stares at her, his stomach lurching. “But I feel fine,” he says, fully aware that he sounds like an idiot. Kalonia gives him this look like he’s lying to her, but he isn’t. He really isn’t. The intermittent stabbing pain in his side has mostly dulled down to this annoyingly persistent ache, and it’s been days since he’s felt the ground shift beneath his feet. A full week since he’s actually fallen because of it. If he were still overseas, they’d — 

Well, they’d...if he were overseas, they’d send him home again, probably, but that isn’t…

“...if you were anything but a pilot,” Kalonia’s saying, and Poe forces himself to refocus on her, because somehow he’s managed to miss half her sentence. “But I don’t want you endangering your own life, and I don’t want you endangering anybody else. Give it a few more weeks and we’ll reevaluate. That’s the best I can do.”

He has to work hard not to gape at her. “A few more weeks,” he repeats, rolling the idea around in his mind. It’s difficult, because of how his mind’s clouding over again with a sort of muffled panic.

“That’s right.”

“Not days?” he adds hopefully, and Kalonia gives him a Look. It’s one of those _don’t waste my time, Poe Dameron_ kind of looks. The kind of look he’d been desperately relieved not to see just a few minutes earlier.

“Not days,” she confirms. 

“I went jogging the other day,” he offers, after a beat. “It felt okay. I felt fine.”

Kalonia raises her eyebrows, unamused. “Well, you weren’t supposed to do that either, but I’m glad you had a nice time.”

Poe goes to rub at the tape on his forehead, then stops himself, shifting uneasily instead. “I just meant —”

“I know what you meant,” Kalonia says, gentler than he probably deserves. “Look, let’s say three more weeks. Then you check back in here, and we’ll see about getting you back in the air.”

And Poe knows better than to argue any further with that.

*   
  


“So?” Finn asks, as they step out of the waiting room and into the hallway. He’s wearing the jacket Poe had left on the chair beside him, which is somehow both deeply endearing and deeply distracting. 

“So, grounded for three more weeks,” Poe says, and manages not to sound like he wants to crawl out of his skin at the thought of it, which he thinks is extremely mature of him. Finn must see it anyway though, because he reaches out to take Poe’s hand.

“Hey,” he says. “We can handle that.”

“Sure, yeah,” Poe answers vaguely as they round the corner, past the hospital cafe and its rubbery sandwiches, past the welcome desk and the sign-in sheet he always forgets to actually use. It’s weird, somehow, to have Finn here. Like this is a somehow naturally Finn-less space. A before-Finn space. Not that he doesn’t want Finn to be here, he wants Finn to be pretty much everywhere, it’s just — weird. 

“Maybe they’ll let you do other stuff,” Finn offers, and Poe gives him a questioning glance. “Leia and Han, I mean. Maybe you can do some non-flying stuff. Paperwork, I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Poe says. “Maybe.” It’s just starting to drizzle when they step outside, and Poe casts a disgruntled glance toward the sky. 

“Here,” Finn says, starting to shrug off the jacket, but Poe shakes his head. 

“Looks better on you,” he says, with a quick grin. Finn scoffs at him, but there’s this kind of shy, pleased look in his eyes that Poe never gets tired of, wants to hold in his memory for as long as it’ll let him. 

And besides, the rain feels good on his bare arms. Calming. He hadn’t even realized he’d still needed any calming, not till they’d stepped outside and the knot in his stomach had started to loosen, leaving behind a dull ache. His head aches too, and he doesn’t know why. Kalonia had told him it shouldn’t anymore. It didn’t, before he went in. Maybe he knocked it on the wall? He can’t remember, he can’t… 

“Poe? Hey. Poe Dameron. You in there?”

Poe blinks at Finn, standing in front of him now somehow. They’re at the edge of the parking lot, just off of the sidewalk, grit and gravel beneath Poe’s boots. The clouds have darkened to a deeper blue gray above them, and the rain feels faster, sharp and stinging on his arms now. In quick succession Poe thinks, _I left my jacket_ , and then remembers Finn’s wearing it. He can see Finn wearing it. He’d just talked to Finn about it.

Finn, who’s looking at him with a fading smile and real concern starting to rise in his eyes. 

_Get it together, Dameron._

“I’m,” Poe says. “Yeah.” Not the most reassuring response he could’ve gone with, but he can’t seem to find more words than that. Like his mind has just sort of powered down. Gone offline. Poe Dameron, currently down for maintenance, try again later. 

The concerned look only deepens, and Finn’s grip on Poe’s hand tightens, which somehow seems to sharpen the world around them again, bringing blurry edges back into focus. “Hey,” Finn says again, softer. “You wanna go home?” 

“Yeah,” Poe repeats, and just like that it’s like the spell finally breaks, his brain clicking back into gear. An engine turning over, rumbling again after sudden, heart-stopping silence. “Yeah, let’s go.”

*

There’s a weird sort of...buzzing, in his head, all the way home. He thinks at first it’s gotta be something to do with the train’s rumbling, maybe somebody’s luggage vibrating against the metal, but then they get off the train and it doesn’t go away. They half-jog together through the rain into the apartment building ( _You weren’t supposed to do that either_ ) and traipse up the stairs, both of them dripping wet, and it doesn’t go away. 

Later he’s standing in the middle of the kitchen with BB circling his feet, staring up at the cabinets, trying to think through the noise and the exhaustion enough to figure out what they can have for dinner tonight, and Finn asks, “You all right?” before Poe even realizes he’s there.

Poe half-smiles, rubs at his forehead just above where the stitches used to be. He says, “Just, y’know, kinda tired.” And even when Finn comes over to kiss him carefully on the cheek, even when Poe lets himself relax forward into Finn’s arms for just a moment, even when he breathes slow and deep and easy, it doesn’t go away.

*

"Three weeks," Jess says, and whistles, which BB-8 takes as an invitation to launch himself at her where she's sitting cross-legged on the worn blanket they’ve spread over the grass. BB’s on his extra long, going-on-an-adventure leash, looped carefully around Poe’s wrist, and he’s been bounding back and forth through as much of the park as he can reach ever since they got here. Jess lifts her takeout container out of his reach for about the fifth time and ruffles his ears with her other hand. 

“Three weeks,” Poe agrees. He lays gingerly back across the blanket to gaze up at the sky. It’s pale blue but getting brighter and clearer all the time, clouds dissipating, and he can’t stop the part of his mind that murmurs, _hell of a day to go flying._ (He never could. Even when he’d just gotten back from overseas, even when he was staying with his dad and still trying to sort through the fog in his head and the only plane for miles was his mom’s old Cessna, broken down in the shed out back.)

He wonders if Pava _knows_ , somehow. If that’s why she’d marched him out of the apartment earlier this afternoon, hands steering his shoulders toward the door before he could manage to come up with any credible protest. 

(“We’re going for a picnic,” she’d informed him, shoving a takeout container into his hands. “It’s called enrichment.” 

“Isn’t that the thing they do for zoo animals?” he’d asked, shoving his feet into his boots. 

“Exactly.”)

“That’s a long time in Dameron Land,” Jess says now, looking down at him with something in her eyes that he can’t figure out, so Poe just half-shrugs at her. He can feel the grass beneath the blanket, prickling at his neck and his arms, sun-warmed and somehow soothing. It’s been two days since the stitches incident, and he still feels this weird, anxious thrumming in his chest here and there, the sort of nerves he doesn’t know how to calm down even after years of therapy. The sort he just has to wait out, like the heavy rain that poured all day yesterday. 

He closes his eyes now, sunlight warm against his eyelids. “Yeah, well. Been through worse for longer.”

Jess doesn’t respond for too long, and Poe’s eyes flicker open again, finding her frowning down at him.

“What?”

"Nothing," Jess says. She’s still looking at him funny, but when he meets her eyes nothing changes; he still can’t guess what she’s thinking. “Just...that's one hell of a measuring stick." 

“Oh. Yeah,” Poe says. And then, “Sorry.” Because he’s pretty sure he doesn’t — he doesn’t really do that normally. Doesn’t bring it up like that. And anyway none of that stuff feels _real_ , not here in the sunlight, with all the noise of cars and kids and birds and barking dogs, and BB snuffling at Poe’s ear before flopping down beside him with a heavy sigh. 

Jess lets out a much more frustrated exhale, shaking her head. “Don’t start with that. I’m not Snap, I’m not gonna get all weird. I just — don’t be stupid about this.”

“What’m I gonna do, Pava, run away and steal a biplane?” Poe answers tiredly, and it comes out about a thousand times more bitter than he’d meant it, but he doesn’t know how to fix that right now, not after it’s already left his mouth, not when he feels like this. 

“Yeah, or go for a jog when you’re supposed to be recovering from a concussion?” Jess says dryly.

Poe shifts, picking at the blanket. “I told you, I was _feeling better_. Kalonia barely even got mad about it.”

“I woulda tackled you right there on the sidewalk if I thought it wasn’t gonna give you another concussion,” Jess says. “I was thinking about it. I really was.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a good thing you don’t get all weird,” Poe says. “Like Snap.”

Jess stretches one leg out and kicks him in the shin before lying down beside him. And they just stay like that, staring up at the sky together. Letting the sounds of the park and its city fill up the quiet between them. 

“You’re gonna tell me, right?” Jess says, after a while. “If you need something.”

Her tone stays light, but Poe finally gets it now. He was stupid not to get it before. The way she’s been looking at him all day, the way she’s talking now with no hint of sarcasm. She’s worried about him, actually worried, and the guilt of that settles heavy in his stomach. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna tell you,” he answers, looking over and mustering a smile. 

Jess doesn’t smile back, just searches his face. “We have your back,” she says. “You know that, right?”

“I mean, you’re all at my apartment dragging me around and going through my stuff like every day, so yeah, I kinda—”

“Dameron.”

“No, yeah. I know. Thanks.”

Jess doesn’t acknowledge that part, just narrows her eyes at him. “So who’s going through your stuff? Wait, no, it’s—”

“Arana,” they say in unison, and Jess snorts. 

“He keeps trying to get rid of my flannels,” Poe complains.

“He did that to me too! Like he’s the fuckin’ fashion expert in those boots.”

Poe frowns. “I didn’t notice the boots.”

“They have _rhinestones_ on them,” Jess says. “How did you not _notice?_ ”

“Concussion?” Poe tries.

“Sure. Yeah. You know you only get that excuse for like three more weeks, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Poe mutters, but he finds himself grinning as Jess launches into a heated rant about Iolo Arana and his rhinestone-based life choices.   
  
  


*  
  
  


After the park, when he’s back in the apartment alone aside from BB, and his ribs ache and his head throbs and the walls feel like they’re closing in and suddenly he can’t think of anything but open sky, he repeats it to himself in his head: _Been through worse for longer._

It’s not the best affirmation in the world. It’s...maybe sort of missing the point of affirmations entirely, from what his therapist’s been telling him, but — it works. It gets him through this minute, and then the next, until he doesn’t have to say it anymore. Until he feels his feet solidly under him again, and the warmth of BB’s head pressing up into his palm, and the stuttering drumbeat of his own heart.

By the time Finn comes home, Poe’s moved on to messing around on the guitar, working through the melody to this folk song his mom used to sing. It comes back to him in bits and pieces, demands his full attention to try and patch it all together into one cohesive whole. So he doesn’t even notice Finn at the door till BB comes bounding by in his usual joyful, tail-wagging welcome. 

Poe’s fingers pause over the strings, and he starts to sort out the complications of standing up before Finn says, “No, stay,” and comes over to kiss him like he’s been waiting to all day. Like they hadn’t just, this morning. 

His hand lingers on Poe’s cheek when they part, and Poe leans into his touch for just a fraction of a second before it drifts away again.

“Hey,” Poe says, way quieter than he’d meant to. It makes him want to clear his throat, try again, but he doesn’t. 

“Hey,” Finn answers, sitting down next to him on the couch, letting their knees knock together as BB settles himself at their feet. “What were you playing?”

“I dunno,” Poe answers, and when Finn raises his eyebrows, Poe shrugs. “I don’t. It’s — my mom used to sing it in Spanish, I dunno the words, just the melody, like—” He plays it out again, softer and slower, more like the lullaby his mom had made of it. 

“I like it,” Finn says, softer too, looking at Poe like he means it. 

“I thought I wouldn’t, uh,” Poe starts, then has to stop. Something about all of this — about Finn looking at him, about the park before, about the music now, about today, about these last few weeks — something about all of it has his throat feeling thick out of nowhere. He swallows, and goes on, looking down at the guitar. “I thought I wouldn’t remember it. I thought I… I only ever remember the one part, but...it came back.” He feels stupid, like he’s rambling, but Finn just keeps gazing at him quietly. Like he’s the most interesting thing in the room. Like he’s worthy of that kind of attention. 

And Poe — he can’t handle that, all of the sudden. He sets the guitar on the coffee table so BB won’t step on it, starts to turn and change the subject, to ask Finn how his day was. But Finn leans in to kiss him again first. Slower this time, threading his fingers gently through Poe’s hair and staying there long enough to anchor him.

“How was your day?” Poe murmurs, still close to Finn’s lips, their foreheads touching. He wants to ask still, wants to know always. Wants to be there for Finn at least half as much as Finn’s been here for him, wants to figure out a way to keep him from ever worrying, to figure out a way to keep him close and calm and happy all at once.

 _Then stop getting hurt,_ Finn half-whispers in his memory, a small and anxious voice in the almost-dark, still splintered somewhere in Poe’s chest.

“I hate Intro to Thermodynamics,” Finn murmurs back in real life, and Poe lets out a surprised laugh, tilting his head back far enough to meet Finn’s eyes. 

“You wanna talk about that?” he asks, half-teasing.

“ _No_ ,” Finn groans, glancing with distaste over at the ever-present stack of textbooks on the kitchen table. (Sometimes it seems to Poe like it grows overnight, despite the fact that Finn insists that no, he’s not secretly taking another three classes, and maybe Poe just doesn’t pay enough attention to his immediate surroundings.) “What about you?”

“Me?” Poe repeats, blinking at him innocently. “I don’t remember a lot of Intro to Thermodynamics, buddy, that was a long —”

Finn cuts him off with a fond sigh. “No, I mean — your day.” 

“Oh.” Poe shrugs, smiling faintly, but he looks away again. “You know me and BeeBee. Productive as usual. All business here.” 

Finn studies him. “You wanna talk about that?” he asks, not teasing much at all. 

Poe doesn’t answer for a moment. “I wanna fly again,” he offers at last. It comes out too quiet. Unexpected to both of them, he’s pretty sure, and now that he’s said the words, he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“You will,” Finn says, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Soon.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Poe answers, managing a smile, and wonders why he doesn’t feel it.

*  
  


Later, when they’re cooking dinner together, Finn starts humming quietly. It takes Poe a moment to recognize his mom’s song, wordless now but alive in the air again. 

It drifts in and out of Poe’s head all night, and follows him right into morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading. Comments are always cherished and appreciated beyond measure.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe hadn’t argued right away, when they told him he had to go home. He hadn’t said anything at all, not at first. He’d sat there across the desk from the doctor and listened to his heartbeat thundering in his ears and he’d thought _this isn’t it, this isn’t it_ in such a feverish rush that he didn’t even know what he meant by it. _This isn’t how it goes,_ maybe. _This isn’t how my life goes. I think you’re making a mistake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This might actually be chapter four out of six! Who can say! Certainly not me. Hope everyone is well and hope you enjoy. <3

Poe hadn’t argued right away, when they told him he had to go home. He hadn’t said anything at all, not at first. He’d sat there across the desk from the doctor and listened to his heartbeat thundering in his ears and he’d thought _this isn’t it, this isn’t it_ in such a feverish rush that he didn’t even know what he meant by it. _This isn’t how it goes,_ maybe. _This isn’t how my life goes. I think you’re making a mistake._

He’d said that part out loud. After the doctor said, _Commander?_ and he remembered that was still him. 

_I think that’s a mistake,_ he’d told her. Very calm. Weirdly calm. He remembers his hands clasped tight to keep them from shaking. He remembers the way the doctor had looked at him, full of pity, and how it had made him want to crawl right out of his skin. 

He remembers her quiet voice, explaining what he’d already known. Remembers feeling like the world was dropping out from under his feet, like he was plummeting from the sky all over again. _I want to talk to the General,_ he’d said after a while, clinging to a thin thread of remaining calm. Certain that if only he could explain, Leia would understand. Leia would let him stay. 

A couple weeks later, he’d be lying awake in his childhood bedroom at his dad’s house, staring up at the faded glow-in-the-dark planets on the ceiling. And his hands would still shake. And he’d wonder why he hadn’t fought harder. 

  
*  
  


He asks his dad about the song, the next time he calls. (Which, well. Poe’s pretty sure he’s talked to his dad more in the last few weeks than he has in the last few years. This might be the hundredth phone call since the accident.) After the usual recitation of _I’m fine, no Dad really I’m fine, I feel okay, I’m getting better_ — after that, he asks about it. Hums the tune softly into the phone, mindful of Finn doing homework a room away in the kitchen.

“I dunno, kid,” Kes says, and Poe can picture him frowning, running a hand through his hair as he thinks. “Your mom sang a lot of songs.”

“Yeah, I know,” Poe says, shifting his feet. He glances toward the kitchen, smiling faintly to see Finn still hard at work on what he’s taken to calling Fucking Thermodynamics. He has his headphones and his Super Extra Determined face on, hasn’t even noticed Poe talking.

“If I remember,” Kes says, “I’ll...”

“Yeah,” Poe repeats, turning away from Finn, toward the window. It’s lousy out again, the sky thick with gray clouds, which is sort of a relief. It means there’s no _you should be flying_ voice in his head to fend off. “Thanks, it’s — it’s not a big deal.”

“All right,” Kes answers quietly, like he gets it, which he probably does. He’s always been good about that stuff. “So, how many weeks left?”

“Two, now,” Poe answers, starting to pace a tight circle around the couch. He always ends up pacing when he’s on the phone. He’s trying hard to confine his pacing to the living room for the sake of Finn’s concentration, but he keeps edging outward, forgetting where his feet are going. BB-8 follows him with a wagging tail, like it’s a game they’re playing.

“Then back to the airfield?”

“Then back to Kalonia.”

“For a couple of broken ribs?” Kes says, something like suspicion creeping into his tone.

Poe winces, stopping so abruptly that BB-8 almost collides with his legs. He’d...maybe sort of forgotten about that particular lie of omission.

“Uh,” he says, reaching down to give BB an apologetic ear rub. “Not, not really, I...” He glances at Finn, who’s still bent over his textbooks. “There was sort of a concussion, but it’s not—”

“Hang on,” Kes interrupts. His voice is unnervingly even. “You had a concussion?”

Poe chews at his lip. “Yeah-h,” he ventures, straightening up to pace around the couch again. “But it’s not—”

“Not a big deal,” Kes guesses. “Nothin’ to tell your dad about.”

“Dad—”

“Is that it?” his dad says. “Any other minor injuries you wanna fess up to? You break a limb or anything? Puncture a lung?”

“No,” Poe says. “Dad, no, I just didn’t—” He stops, closing his eyes for a moment and rubbing at his forehead with a sigh. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Poe,” Kes sighs, and somehow manages to weigh his name with about a thousand layers of emotion. Poe braces himself for a raised voice, for an accusation, for an argument circling around the always-unsaid _why didn’t you tell me, why can’t you trust me with this_. Another walk down the well-trodden path of their usual fights.

But his dad doesn’t raise his voice. He lowers it, and says, “If you need me to come down there, I...”

“Dad, no,” Poe interrupts, pained. “I have, like, a whole squadron of ex-Navy babysitters.”

“But not a single Marine,” Kes replies, deadpan, and Poe lets out a reluctant laugh.

“I think we can manage.”

“Look, if you need me, I’ll be there,” Kes says. “That’s all I’m tryin’ to say, _mijo_.”

There’s this pang in Poe’s chest, sharp and sudden — guilt and nostalgia and he doesn’t know what else, all tangled up together. “I know you will,” he says. “Thanks.”

“All right,” Kes says, and just in those two syllables Poe can hear him holding back, choosing not to push any further. “How’s Finn?”

Poe glances over at Finn, still with his head bowed over a textbook. “Responsible,” he says. “Good at stuff.”

“Well, you tell Mr. Responsible Good at Stuff I said hi, then.”

And Poe promises he will. 

  
*  
  


The days pass slow, all these long empty hours aside from the few routines Poe’s managed to take back: walking BB, lunches with Jess, the dog park with Finn. By the time Sunday arrives, the scarring cut on his forehead is finally starting to look less angry and red. He prods at it in the mirror experimentally, wincing as it answers with a dull throb.

“I didn’t know we were getting dressed up,” Finn says, and Poe turns around to see him standing there smiling fondly, waiting for him. It’s going to be their first Sunday dinner back at Snap and Karé’s since the accident, and Poe is— he’s _not_ getting dressed up, he’s just... just getting ready.

“I’m wearing jeans,” Poe protests.

“And a button-down,” Finn answers, stepping closer and tugging gently on Poe’s cuffs to pull them down past his elbows. “Fancy.”

Poe smiles despite himself, despite the unexpected anxiety beginning to prickle in his stomach. “A button-down isn’t fancy.”

“But it looks nice. You look good.” Finn brushes carefully at his shoulders, displacing dog hair.

“It’s an occasion,” Poe says, giving a helpless shrug, and he feels stupid saying it, but when he looks up there’s a depth of fondness in Finn’s eyes which he is not at all prepared to meet, almost has to glance away from again.

“Maybe I should get dressed up,” Finn says thoughtfully, his hands smoothing over Poe’s sleeves, trailing from his cuffs now to catch each of Poe’s hands in his own.

“We could put BeeBee in a tie,” Poe tries to joke, but it comes out a little rough, a little distracted. By Finn’s hands, his expression, the weight of his attention. “Finn...”

“What?” Finn asks, eyes shining, happy and free and entirely unselfconscious in this moment, and Poe leans forward and kisses him. Like the act of doing so will somehow preserve the moment for a while longer. Like if they stay like this, just exactly like this, it’ll stretch on and on.

  
*  
  


Snap and Karé’s house feels impossibly huge to Poe, somehow, after weeks of being stuck mostly in his own cramped apartment or wandering narrow city streets. BB keeps galloping joyfully around the living room, letting out these little yips and _roooo_ s as he plays tug-of-war with Jess. Finn and Karé and Iolo are all around the coffee table, talking about the season finale of this show Poe always forgets the name of, can never quite get into.

Poe keeps quiet, for his part, drifting around the kitchen with Snap, adding extra spices to the chili simmering on the stovetop, stirring pots when they seem to need it. He keeps thinking Snap’s going to figure it out, that he’s separated himself from the rest of them on purpose, that he can’t handle the noise right now, that he’s not talking enough.

But Snap doesn’t seem to mind. He’s quiet too, pouring cornbread batter into a pan and setting it carefully on the oven rack, humming along with the music from the radio on the windowsill. When he turns around from the oven, he pauses, giving Poe a considering look.

“What?” Poe asks, surreptitiously sliding the chili powder behind his back.

“Nothing,” Snap says, shrugging. He hesitates, then adds, “You feeling okay?”

Poe leans back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. “So are you gonna ask me that every hour tonight, or every ten minutes, or —?"

“All right, all right,” Snap says, holding his hands up. “I get it. Backing off.” He takes a literal step back, as if to demonstrate his commitment, but the worry lines don’t leave his face as he starts in on washing the cornbread dishes. And after a moment he stops, turning back toward Poe with soap still dripping from his hands.

“I’m not asking ’cause I don’t think you can handle it.”

“I know,” Poe says, even though he hadn’t. Snap seems to relax a little, going back to his dishes.

“I just — sometimes you move a little fast, boss.” There’s an apology in his tone, and Poe doesn’t say anything. He feels his heartbeat kick forward a notch, like it wants to prove Snap right.

Except he already knows Snap’s right. _Too fast_ is a criticism he’s been getting his whole life. The doctor back at base had issued it too, all those years ago. _You moved too fast. Going home will give you a chance to slow down. To heal._

“Yeah, well, I’m better at that now,” Poe says at last, blinking himself back to the present, back to Snap and Karé’s kitchen, which hadn’t existed back then. Which he never could have even imagined then. He’d thought— he’d thought—

 _You thought we’d leave you here all by yourself?_ And that’s Jess Pava, in some hazy, fog-drenched memory from a couple years back, standing out in the rain and looking at him with dawning shock. Like it wasn’t some kind of miracle, that they’d followed him here. That she was standing there with him at all, after everything.

Poe closes his eyes, standing over the stovetop, breathing in the scent of simmering chili and baking cornbread, listening to the voices in the living room get louder, rising along with laughter. _Be here_ , he tells himself sternly. _You’re here._

And all of the sudden it’s like he’s here _too much_. The music feels too loud, and everything feels too bright even with his eyes shut, and he takes a quick, sharp breath, blinking up to see Snap looking back at him with concern.

“Okay, you can be mad at me, but I’m gonna ask you again.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Poe says, not really looking at him. The living room voices have fallen back to a normal volume, the radio following suit, but it’s like there’s this ringing in his ears still. He wants to sit down. He wants to close his eyes again.

“Well, thanks, but that’s not an answer.”

“You didn’t ask anything.”

“Okay,” Snap mutters, seemingly to himself, and then he says, “How’re you feeling, boss?”

Poe considers for a moment, casting a hazy look around the too-bright kitchen. “Like I got thrown outta the sky a few weeks ago,” he offers, and Snap snorts.

“You wanna be more specific?”

“Like I need to sit down,” Poe replies, more tersely than he’d meant, but that seems to be enough for Snap. He steers Poe out of the kitchen and toward the guest bedroom, taking the long way around so they won’t have to go through the living room.

“I just need a couple minutes,” Poe mutters, sinking down onto the mattress of the guest room and picking at the quilt there. “Don’t let everybody make it into a thing.”

“I got you,” Snap promises. He doesn’t turn on the lights, leaving the door open a crack instead. “You want me to get Finn?”

“Only if he asks,” Poe says. Finn’s having fun, he thinks. Talking about that show, laughing. It’s good to see him fitting in with everybody these days, undaunted now by their constant snark and cheerful one-upping. Poe doesn’t want to take that away from him. “Seriously, man, like five minutes tops.”

“Okay,” Snap says, squeezing his shoulder. “See you in five minutes.”

And then Poe’s alone in the dark and the quiet, gazing at the thin strip of light pouring in from the hallway.

*  
  


He remembers endless days in the dark, remembers telling himself stories to pass the time. Trying to recite the plots of his favorite childhood books and movies, always under his breath, always near-silent. Just shaping the words in the air to remember how they felt.

He used to hum, too, soft enough that nobody could hear it but him. Those old folk songs his mom used to like. Classic rock from the jukebox at that bar he used to go to with Karé and Iolo. Pop songs from the radio on base, all the ones Pava liked to blast. Each melody tied to a memory he could live in, for a few minutes at least.

He doesn’t know if he ever hummed his mom’s song, the one he played the other day. Doesn’t know which memories it surfaced from, now — some sunny fragment of childhood, or all those days in the dark. 

  
*  
  


He slips back into the kitchen easily enough, unnoticed except by Snap, who raises a hand in greeting like nothing ever happened, like Poe hadn’t just had some kind of episode in the middle of dinner prep.

“All good?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, running a hand through his hair and glancing at the living room, trying to confirm that nobody noticed his brief disappearance. Finn catches his eye and smiles warmly, looking relaxed and content, and Poe gives him a wave, smiling back.

“Yeah,” Poe repeats, like he actually means it this time. He looks at Snap, finds the worry still there in his face, and adds, “You can’t make chili without chili powder.”

Snap sighs in exasperation, but there’s relief clear in the slope of his shoulders. “I told you before, it _has_ chili powder.”

“Now it does,” Poe replies. “I fixed it.”

“You — what?” Snap casts a suspicious look over at the bubbling chili, then at the half-empty shaker on the counter. “Oh my god, Poe.”

“You can’t make chili and put in like, a teaspoon of chili powder,” Poe insists. “You gotta _commit_ to these things, Wexley.”

“Sir yes sir,” Snap retorts.

Poe raises his eyebrows. “Hey, don’t snap, Snap.”

Snap groans. “That’s never been funny. You _know_ that’s never been funny.”

“I dunno.” Poe shrugs, cracking a grin for the first time all night. “It’s pretty much always funny to me.”

  
*  
  


“Did something happen before?” Finn asks, as they’re heading back toward the apartment building, BeeBee ambling along between the two of them, all content and tired out.

“Huh?” Poe asks. He’d been zoning out, his stomach full, mind settled and calm now after an evening of familiar banter and bickering. “Oh. No, I mean. What d’you mean?”

Finn shrugs. “I looked up and you were gone. You were gone for a while.”

“Five minutes,” Poe says, and Finn frowns, casting a puzzled look at him. “I got all— it got too bright,” he adds, giving a shrug, like this is a perfectly normal thing to say. “Had to go sit down.”

“Oh,” Finn says, soft. And then he says, “You didn’t tell me.”

“I forgot,” Poe says honestly. “It wasn’t a big deal, buddy, I just... It was loud.”

Finn squeezes his hand. “And bright.”

“And bright.” Poe looks up, searches Finn’s face and finds him frowning off at the horizon like it had wronged him somehow. “I wasn’t keepin’ it from you. I just forgot.”

“I know,” Finn says. He falls quiet for a while, and then he says, “I just wanna...” He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to say it, or like maybe it’s too big to say. “If you need something,” he says at last, “I wanna be there. That’s all.”

“You are there,” Poe assures him, and squeezes his hand back to prove it. “You’re always there. It’s incredible, how there you are. Couldn’t ask for a guy to be more there.”

“Poe Dameron,” Finn sighs, but he’s smiling even as he rolls his eyes.

*

That night he dreams about the airfield again, Muran still standing there at the edge, facing away from Poe. Only there are no stars to look up at this time. Just a sky full of endless darkness, the kind that swallows all shape, all meaning.

He tries to call out to Muran, but no sound comes from his lips. He’s just shaping Muran’s name in the air. Remembering how it felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The show Finn likes is called Moon Hospital. It's a dramedy about a hospital on the moon.


End file.
